


The Breakfast Club

by JohnMyBeloved



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: 1980s AU, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, High School AU, M/M, Science Bros, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMyBeloved/pseuds/JohnMyBeloved
Summary: Marvel High School, New York City, 1984Five students spend a Saturday in detention. All have nothing in common and are completely different in personality and interests.Until they start to talk to each other and realise that maybe they're not just the jock or the prep or the criminal or the nerd or the basket-case.Until they form the Avengers[ high school avengers AU ]





	1. Nulla

_Dear Professor Fury_

_We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong._

_What we did was wrong._

_But we think you're crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are._

_What do you care? You see us as you want to see us... in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions._

_You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal._

_Correct?_

_That's how we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning._

_We were brainwashed._


	2. adventus

  
When the first car pulled up outside of Marvel High School on the 24th of March, 1984; it was 7 am.

The sun had just pulled itself over the horizon to chase off the night and had settled behind a grey cloud. The whole sky seemed to be blanketed in thick grey causing the air to be humid and muggy.

Marvel High School sat in view of the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn bridge. It was a compilation of many different eras and styles and all together looked as if the entirety of New York's history had been squashed into a building. The front of the school (that greeted the parents) was mostly comprised of the principal's office (a spacious and uncluttered room that followed the current trend of minimalism and held only professional documents except a small, framed photograph of principal Coulson's wife, daughter and son (named Melinda, Daisy and Grant respectively); the rest of the arching, red front building was the home of the reception, the visitors waiting room, the nurse's office and a few teachers' offices. One would also have to walk through the daunting building every morning and afternoon when beginning and ending the school day.

The rest of the school lay behind the entrance and was made up of five differently styled buildings that were connected by narrow corridors along the ground floor to create a hexagonal shape (if it were connected to the entrance, that is). Closest to the entrance building, to the south-west, was the Humanities block; a large, rectangular three story building that was believed to have been built in the nineteenth century. This contained the numerous English, French and Latin classrooms as well as the history, geography and drama rooms.

Next was the block known as the labs, a two story 1960s style building that housed both science laboratories and their classrooms along with mathematics.

Then there was the gymnasium with the playing field to the rear of it that hosted the many sports events that Marvel High were more than happy to sign up to (mostly track and field events and football games; American and standard alike). The gym was fairly new- having been built in 1982- and was the pride of Marvel. It was often the biggest selling point.

Closest to the west side of the entrance building was the tech block which contained the art studios, home economics rooms and shop labs.

Then squashed between the Tech block and gym was the library (and to the back, a cafeteria) that had also been rebuilt fairly recently and contained the few computers that the students were permitted to use. It was a three story building with the bottom two floors being open plan and connected by winding steel stairs, while the top floor was used as a storage room. On the bottom floor, there was a large, circular space occupied by eight rectangular tables with four chairs at each table. And just behind the tables stood a proud stone statue of the school's founder, Stanley Lieber.

And it was the events in this library that changed the lives of five unsuspecting pupils.

•

A red haired girl turned to her father and sighed heavily, "this is so stupid, father. I can't believe that you've made me come to this detention! All my friends are at the mall and-"

"You should've thought about the consequences before you did what you did. Now stop complaining and deal with the punishment, okay?" Her balding father interrupted with his thick but understandable Russian accent. He impulsively twiddled the end of his moustache with his thumb and index finger and placed a kiss on his daughter's forehead. The girl sighed.

"Da, father. See you at three," she sighed and quickly pecked her father cheek before climbing out of the maroon BMW and shutting the door firmly behind her. She turned to wave after a few seconds but her father had already sped off out the car park leaving only petrol fumes to see her off. She sighed and climbed the steps up to the main entrance.

Next to arrive was a plain blue ford, full to the brim with passengers. A woman in her mid-thirties with mousy brown hair sat in the driving seat, with three young boys squeezed into the two back passenger seats. She ruffled the dark hair of her eldest son next to her and squeezed his shoulder and he scooped up his bag and sat it in his lap while he waited for his mother to speak.

"Now, Tony, you know what your father would say if he were here dropping you off: use this to your advantage. Use these hours in the library to study for your tests so you pass." The woman straightened her glasses and pulled on the collar of her son's coat.

"Ma, this is detention. You're not supposed to study; we're not allowed to do anything really apart from sit there and watch the clock until the time is up," the small, dark eyed boy fidgeted and cast his eyes quickly to the intimidating front of Marvel High.

"I know, Tony, but you know your father. He'll most likely want to see your notes when he gets home," Maria Stark sighed.

"If he gets home. He probably won't show up till tomorrow morning and he'll be too hungover to care. He's doesn't give a damn about-"

His mother cut him off with a shush, "Anthony, don't talk about your father like that! he works hard for us. Now say goodbye to your brothers and get going, I don't want you to be late and get another detention; you're father will go mad."

He nodded and allowed his mother to kiss his cheek and said farewell to his brothers as he climbed out of the car, "see you later, Jarvis, Rhodey, Happy." He ignored his mother rolling her eyes at the silly nicknames and set off towards the school.

Just as the Starks set off, a green Vauxhall pulled up in the car park, this time with a fair haired boy and his steel eyed uncle. The uncle tutted as he turned off the ignition and took his hands off the steering wheel. He looked at the boy with annoyance but also with some humour. "Back in my day, when we did stupid shit, we were clever enough not to get caught. It's a good thing that you are a good wrestler, kid, because you sure don't have any brains; pure brawn you are," he patted the boy's muscular arm and opened the door for him as it had a tendency to stick.

"Okay, uncle Chester?" The boy said uneasily as not to set the man off on another rant.

"Look what I'm saying, Steve, is that you need to leave to be more sneaky. Luckily you didn't have practice today but you can't afford to miss any more than you already have, okay?" Mr Phillips waited expectantly for his nephew's answer.

"Yes, sir," Steve replied and climbed out of the car. He didn't turn back when he heard the door slam shut and sped away from the school and off towards the bridge to Brooklyn.

The next two students arrived simultaneously, one on foot and the other in a run down Volkswagen. The one on foot appeared alone and had chin length, dirty blond hair and hid behind a pair of square sunglasses and an ill fitting, black, leather coat that reached his knees. He dropped the lit cigarette from his lips and onto the floor, where he extinguished it with his combat boot clad foot. He hurled a wad of spit along side the dying cigarette and continued to walk.

Out of the car sprung a thin, dark haired boy that also sported the chin length style. He was dressed in all black and his face was obscured by his messy and greasy hair. The boy yanked his rucksack onto his shoulders and shut the door. However, before he could even contemplate muttering a farewell to the driver, the car took off in a flume of fumes and a loud roar.  
The boy watched the dark car leave and the weight upon his shoulders lessen, even if only by a little.

•

07 : 05

Professor Nicholas Fury watched as the students walked into the library and took their places at various tables. The deputy principal/ government professor definitely lived up his name; he seemed to have a permanent scowl etched onto his weathered features and a temper that was too short for anyone's liking. Fury was better known for his anger and strictness than the fact that he was one of the only black members of staff at Marvel High along with Mr Cage, Miss Knight and Mr Udaku- a gym teacher that had recently moved from Africa with his wife Ororo.

Once the five students were seated he began to read their names off the roll call and made a note of where they were sitting so that he could make sure that they hadn't moved from their desks when he checked on them.

"James Barnes?" The weird, dark haired kid sat on the back row on Fury's right, second seat to the right. _What a creepy kid_ , Fury thought.

"Clinton Barton?" The troublesome seventeen year old raised his hand lazily. Left hand side, third row, third seat to the right. _I hate that cocky_ , _no-good, no-brain asshole_.

"Steven Rogers?" The athletic blonde's hand rose and Fury made a note of his seat; left side, second row, closest seat to the centre aisle. _I can't stand jock kids, cocky little assholes_.

"Natalia Romanova?" The red haired girl sat on the same row as Rogers but with a chair between them, Fury noted. _I wonder what her soviet scum of a family think about her being in detention all day instead of attending Communism 101_.

"And, Anthony Stark?" The small and nervous, glasses wearing boy's hand shot up before lowering slowly under Fury's scalding stare. Right hand side, third row, closest chair to the aisle. _What the fuck did that swat do to be put in detention? Steal an encyclopaedia or something_?

Fury tucked the register and seat plan into his back pocket and straightened his black tie. He smoothed down his thick black moustache and thick black hair. He stood up straight and addressed the kids.

"Listen here, from now until three o'clock, you will not speak nor move nor do anything other than the task I'm about to set you. If you do what I've told you not to do, I will give you another Saturday detention. I will be in the office across the corridor and I'll be able to hear everything, alright. So your task is to write a thousand word essay about who you think you are. And by a thousand word essay, I do not mean write the same word a thousand times, okay? I want this done by the time you roll outta here at 3 o'clock, I don't care if your mother or girlfriend just died, I want this done."

Rogers, Romanova and Stark nodded, the other two didn't seem to care. Barton stared at him with as much hate and boredom that he can muster and Barnes seemed to be in his own, weird and isolated world. _I hate kids_.

"Good. You're detention starts now."

 


	3. unum

Silence hung heavy in the library as though a funeral had just been taking place. Only quiet breaths and subtle tapping- along with the incessant ticking of the white, plastic, analogue clock that hung above the door- attempted to fight away the void.

Natasha and Steve stared at the wall in boredom, boring holes into the plain white walls. Natasha looked away briefly to slip off her black cardigan and puff up her hair with her recently manicured hands.

Steve did his best to entertain himself by reenacting famous wrestling matches in his mind but with himself as the victor.

Clint pulled a small lighter from the inside pocket of his coat, one that was decorated with the outline of a hawk in silver. He pulled the lighter up to his face and started to click it rhythmically and watched as the gas-born flame rose and died with every click.

Tony ran his fingernails over the table, memorising the grooves and dents with his fingertips. He ran a hand through his already messy hair and twiddled aimlessly with his glasses to try and keep his mind off the sheer boredom that exhausted the other students.

And Bucky lay hunched forward with his cheek against the tabletop, drifting in and out of a half sleep. The dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his face warned the others not to bother to try and wake him as small- almost silent- snores came from his partially open mouth.

The library door was open and across a small stretch of corridor, Fury sat in the librarian's office while catching up on some marking, from his open door he could easily see the five students at their tables.

As the clock continued to tick, Tony whispered to himself as he tried to dull the boredom by doing what he was best at- mathematical sum. He needed to revise anyway, his father would go berserk if he found out that Tony hadn't been keeping his mind active. When he was around, Howard Stark could either be a decent father and husband or a sulky and malicious monster; plenty of nights Tony had found himself too scared to sleep- too scared for morning to arrive, bringing a knew personality for Howard.

"Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour, so that's... three thousand-six hundred seconds in an hour, times by eight... is-"

"What the fuck are you rambling on about over there four eyes?" Clint turned in his chair and narrowed his eyes at the wide eyed boy. He wiped the small amount of spittle that had gathered at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and wiped his hand on the table much to the dismay of Natasha.

"Four eyes? that's original. Way to go jackass," Steve muttered sarcastically causing Natasha to snicker behind her hand. Clint rolled his eyes and ignored the pair, turning his attention back to Tony.

"So Tommy, what were you whispering to yourself? Eh?" Clint hissed and leant forward on his chair closer to Tony.

The younger boy scratched the back of his neck and rambled in his nervous state, "my name isn't Tommy, it's Anthony- although I prefer Tony, only my father calls me Anthony- and my aunt Freida who I call Friday, it's funny really-"

"Jeez kid, I didn't want you entire family tree, what- were- you- saying- to- yourself ?" Clint harshly interrupted and spoke mockingly slow.

Tony stuttered, "right, right, sorry. I'm calculating the number of seconds we have left in detention. There are sixty seconds in a minute and sixty minutes in an hour so that's three-thousand six-hundred seconds. T-then times that by the the amount of hours in detention- eight- so that's now... twenty eight thousand-eight hundred seconds. Then take away the amount of seconds in thirty minutes- the approximate amount of time we have been here- which is one thousand-eight hundred... so we approximately have twenty six thousand and two hundred seconds left until we can go home." He finished triumphantly and a small smile.

The other stared at him aghast with wide eyes and open mouths. Clint looked at Natasha and Steve and for half a moment, they shared the same thought:

"What the fuck?" Bucky slurred and briefly rose his head to cast Tony a look of confusion. The other three stared at him and nodded in unison. The bloodshot eyed boy noticed the sudden shift of attention to him and slunk back to the reclusive silence that he'd been in before.

Clint clapped slowly and sarcastically, looking back and forth at Tony and Bucky, "well done Tony, your sad-ass nerdiness has even awoken the psychopath."

Bucky glared at him and mumbled an insult at the other boy, one that luckily went unheard by Clint.

"C'mon, Barton, let 'em be," Steve tossed an arm over the back of his chair and slipped off his red and blue letterman jacket. Clint saluted lazily and once again, rolled his dark eyes.

"Of course, I sure will cap'in," he said loudly and in a thick, southern drawl.

Fury leant in his chair to the door of his office, leaning slightly out so that the teens would be able to hear him, "shut your damn mouth, Barton! Don't make me come in there, you little dickhead," he whispered the last part to himself. The last thing he needed was to be reported for swearing at a pupil- again.

"Yeah, please shut up," Natasha clicked her teeth and threw a look at Steve who was too busy watching the mysterious Barnes kid across the tables.

Natasha lightly nudged the blonde boy with her elbow, he turned quickly to where she waited with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk on her face. Steve shrugged and tilted his head slightly.

He didn't mean to stare at the boy, but there was something about him that he just couldn't place. His hair was a mixture of frizzy and greasy and covered most of his face but from the odd moments where Steve had actually seen Bucky Barnes' face, he had created a mental picture of what lay underneath the dark locks; sharp jaw, pale skin and stormy eyes. He hadn't gotten to the lips, he couldn't, in his mind there was a scandalous difference between thinking of a boy's face and thinking of a boy's lips.

The exchange between the girl and boy wasn't missed by the hawk-eye of Clint Barton. The blue eyed boy smirked dangerously and stretched out his arms until his hands were within reaching distance if the chair between the pair. He learnt forward over the table to the space and looked between the two, pointing at them in turn, "ahhh, I sense something between you two.. something sex-ual. Are you together- or are you just fuckbuddies, eh?"

Steve clenched his jaw and Natasha started to turn in her seat when the boy placed his hand lightly on her arm, "just ignore him," he hissed softly, "he just wants attention. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Both Tony and Bucky had raised their heads to watch the events unfolding between the three. The former watched with worry and anxiety that Fury would storm in and give them another detention while the latter watched with a quiet curiosity, as though he were watching a documentary about animals in the wild.

"I have to give it to you, Cap. She's a fine catch. I wonder, have you done the nasty yet or is she too much of a perfect daddy's girl to let you touch her," Clint wiggled his eyebrows and attempted to nudge Steve in a brotherly fashion but was stopped when Steve leant away from his fist.

"You make me sick," Natasha spat and turned away from the boy, tapping her long nails on the hard surface top of the table to distract herself from Clint's incessant innuendos and sly remarks.

"Love you too, princess." He made a 'mwah' sound as he puckered his lips and blew a kiss at the red haired girl.

  
•

 

Tony stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him; the unfilled blue lines against the white paper screamed and tormented him. Every time he lifted his pencil up to write, he found himself stuck for words.

_Who do I think I am?_

He wondered whether he should write the first thing that came to his head just to get the tedious activity over and done with- but then he may make mistakes and be pulled back by Fury again- or he could wait for a good answer to come to mind and write that- but that risked having to do a last minute rush. Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed in quiet frustration.

What sort of question was that? How did Fury expect him to answer?

 

**_Who do I think I am?_ **

_My name is Anthony Stark but I prefer Tony. I am the oldest of four children; my brothers being James (Rhodey), Edward (Jarvis) and Harold (Happy). I am top of four of my classes and the rest I am near. I am the son of Howard Stark, a CEO at Stark Enterprises, and Maria Stark, an ex member of Congress. I-_

 

No.

That didn't seem to answer the question that Fury had set them; he was simply stating who he was. Not who he thought he was.

He huffed and turned his head to look what the others were doing, since the little argument between the three main characters of school life had ended, the room at been suspended in a heavy and cold silence. The captain of the wrestling team was tapping his foot nonchalantly and rolling his shoulders every now and then; next to him, the Russian girl twirled her auburn hair around her index finger and sneakily chewed bubblegum and blew a bubble every few minutes but none big enough to cause any attention to herself that may bring in Fury; the scary, older boy had set about rolling cigarettes with a small, yellow, rectangular packet of tobacco and the other necessary equipment used in cigarette rolling- none of which Tony knew, of course; and the weird, silent boy behind him cast an aura that made Tony too scared to peer around for a quick glimpse of what he was doing, although the last time he had seen the boy, he had once again been napping at the table with his dark hair covering his face.  

He'd heard rumours of course all about the four individuals that he found himself somewhat tied to through their unrelated reasons that led them all to be in detention on that specific Saturday. He had heard that Rogers was on track to being awarded a scholarship to a college somewhere south and that Romanova's family had links to the dreaded KGB (although he thought that the latter must be false otherwise they'd never have been allowed into the county). He'd heard that by the age of ten, Barton had been sent to a juvenile correctional facility after being involved with a murder and he'd once come across a faint rumour involving Barnes: that he was kicked out of his last school for stabbing a fellow pupil, and a shadowy family member had to pay for his education at Marvel (in all honesty, neither would've surprised him).

He shook his head, time to start thinking about who he was and not who he thought others were.

Tony didn't know the answer to that. For the first time in his life, he was faced with a question that he had no idea how to answer.

He wasn't just the son of a company CEO and a former member of Congress, nor the brother of a budding software developer, a well decorated Air Force cadet and an aspiring Speedway racer. He wasn't just top of a few classes or the close friend of those who were top of the rest. He was more, or so he hoped. He hoped that he was worth more than someone's something.

His pen danced across the page although ink never touched the paper, leaving it as empty as his idea as to he thought he was.

 

_Who do I think I am?_

_I don't know_.


	4. duo

The librarian's office opposite the open door of the library was a rather small room in comparison to the other teachers' offices. It had been painted white with one blue wall where the windows were situated. One pale wall was not visible to an onlooker as a large, almighty stack of books rested against it; containing books too damaged to be put on display, new books that needed to be processed through the school bookkeeping system and those that could only be read with a note showing a parent's and a teacher's consent. Nicholas Fury found himself reading one of those books, although he doubted that any of the members of staff- excluding Ms Hill, the librarian- knew of its existence within the school.

It was a so called dirty book that Ms Hill must've been reading for leisure, but the government teacher found it rather humorous and inwardly rejoined in the fact that he now had another piece of information to use against a fellow member of staff. He had a notebook of sorts where he collected shameful evidence other's secrets in case he may need it in the future. He opened the small, black leather bound notebook to a half filled page and revelled in his previous findings.

  
- _Coach Thanos (gym):_

_Deals drugs (mostly cocaine and ecstasy) to juniors (commonly Loki Laufeyson)_

_-Dr Abraham Erkstine (science)_

_provides the wrestling team with steroids._

_-Miss Wanda Maximoff (World studies)_

_Lived in the US as an illegal immigrant for more than ten years before being deported back to Sokovia and changing her name and faking a workers visa for the US._

_-Mr Luke Cage (US history)_

_Is currently having an affair with Jessica Jones in Senior year_

_-Ms Maria Hill (librarian)_

_Uses the school budget to secretly buy poorly written erotic fiction (most notably_ Tahiti Tales _by S.H Ield)_

  
He smirked to himself and returned the small book to his jacket pocket, tapping it in reassurance.

To everyone else, Fury would seem like a creepy and malicious stalker but for the teacher, this was normal. There were four things that Fury loved more than anything: classic literature; the complete discographies of James Brown and Frank Sinatra; and being in control. Being in control gave Fury a blanket of impenetrable security as to protect himself from the outside world. When he first applied for a job at Marvel High, he had been aiming for the principal job but instead the quiet but firm Phil Coulson got the job and he was given the role of Government and part-time politics teacher. He liked Phil very much, they had often gone out for beers together but Nicholas was continually haunted by the events that had involved him less than twenty years before, back when the government, that he so passionately taught about, funded the racism that he faced on a day to day basis.

At night Professor Fury could still hear the abuse hollered by the lynch mob outside his window as they made their way to an innocent black man's resistance. He could smell the burning of his father's car and see the flames of the supremacists' cross in every candle he passed. He had been without power for so long that now he could control his life, he made sure that he could control others too. There was a horrible logic behind his destructive actions.

Fury ran his fingers over the gold band on his middle finger and twisted it a few times before slipping it off and continuing his read of the pathetic _Tahiti Tales_ with an odd smile of justice upon his lips.

•

Steve hissed as his head hit the hard table after slipping from his palm. He rubbed the sore spot on his forehead and furrowed his eyebrows as he felt a faint headache start to blossom from his temples.

"You alright?" Natasha whispered as she did her best to hold back a mocking smirk. Steve opened his lips to answer but was beaten to it by Clint.

"Don't worry about him, princess. His skull is too thick for him to feel a thing," he chuckled and leant back on his chair after throwing a wink at Natasha. She turned her nose up at him and turned back to face the door.

Bucky lifted his head slightly and mumbled something after seeing Steve's pained expression.

Clint scrunched his nose up and sighed exasperated, "what was that, freak?"

The boy's eyes shot open at the realisation that he'd been noticed and heard and shrugged his shoulders. Tony turned to face the introverted boy and half smiled- an expression that Bucky didn't return but he tilted his head to the side slightly as a silent means of communication with the bespectacled brunette. Tony sighed and turned his attention to both Clint and Steve, "he said do you want a paracetamol?" Bucky curled further into his chair but nodded at Tony in gratitude.

Steve was taken a back and stared at the lonesome boy in shock for a few moments before Natasha brought him back to earth with a slight nudge. He slowly nodded his head and coughed, "if you don't mind, James. Thanks."

Bucky nodded and picked up his black rucksack and began to rummage through it. He surprised the other students by pulling out an array of medicine: paracetamol, ibuprofen, co-codamol, codeine, and an odd looking clear bag of blue and pink pills, each marked with a star. The boy picked out the paracetamol and walked slowly over to where Steve and Natasha sat. His dark hair still obscured a view of his whole face although as he moved, Steve got a better view of his wild eyes.

The boy's bruised hands shook slightly as he placed the small box into Steve's larger slightly tanned hand. Their skin slightly grazed which made Bucky pull back immediately as though he had touched scalding metal. "Thanks, James," Steve said to the other. The brunette flashed him a ghost of a smile.

"I-it's B-bucky," he stammered so quietly that Steve thought that he'd imagined it. Bucky looked down at Steve and couldn't help but look over the younger and more muscular boy. He was everything Bucky wasn't; confident, respected, well-liked, -beautiful. Bucky shook the thoughts from his head and moved to walk back to his seat on the other side of the tabled area. Steve's hand reached out and barely caught the loose sleeve of Bucky's black hoodie, "thank you, Buck," he said warmly with a smile. He took two white tablets and swallowed them, washing them down with some water that he'd had in his back. He offered the pack back to Bucky but he gave Steve a slight shake of his head, mumbling, "keep them. I have more," before turning his back and quickly sitting in his seat; then retreating to the silent shell that he had previously been in.

Steve once again couldn't help but let his eyes roam over the mysterious boy. He seemed to be a little bit older than he was although it may just be his exhausted appearance that added age to him. When Bucky spoke, his soft and almost inaudible voice sounded Brooklyn borne with maybe an edge of Eastern European. He hunched in on himself so Steve couldn't be sure of his height although he guessed that he was only a little shorter than himself and his narrow frame wasn't one of a lean athlete but of an underfed, awkward teen boy whose bones could be made out under his paper light skin. Steve felt an odd mixture of sympathy, pity, curiosity and a hint of something forbidden when it came to Bucky Barnes, there was something he couldn't quite make out.

He found himself repeating the image of Bucky's face over and over in his mind. His internal eyes stared at every feature in great detail as though they were memorising every piece of Bucky for a dark night when Steve searched for someone to lust over. The high cheekbones and the dimple in his chin, his prominent but hungry jawline, his soft nose and thick eyebrows, his eyes the colour of the Atlantic, and his lips. The lips that burned behind Steve's eyelids; an arching cupid's bow, the thinner top lip and the full bottom one.

"I'm bored," Clint groaned loudly and slammed his fists onto the table in an extravagant display of emotion. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled it back from his face, tucking it behind his ears.

"Good for you, dumbass. As you can see, we're all bored; you don't have to point it out," Natasha sighed and put her head down onto the crook of her arm.

Clint threw the girl a smile that she didn't see. "sorry, princess. Just wanted to make sure that we're all as miserable as each other. Although it seems that Jeffery Dahmer over there is having a whale of a time- what with him giving a young boy drugs. You better be careful Rogers, I wouldn't be surprised if he gave you ruphies and is planning on following you home," he snorted and threw a dirty look at Bucky.

Bucky looked up but didn't seem to be hurt by Clint's words- he didn't even seem surprised. He in turn looked at Natasha and Tony, whom were both looking at him with a look of pity and worry, but made sure to miss Steve's look of shock and slight anger.

"What the hell, Barton? Can you just shut your goddamn mouth for once in your life? None of us want to here what you've got to say, it's all bull. Complete and utter b.s," Steve yelled and turned himself around to fully look at Clint, who stared back at him with a smug grin on his face.

"Aw, Rogers. You protecting your boyfriend? Well if you are, you're not going it very well. You can't even swear at me. C'mon, Cap, swear at me. Tell me to fuck off or something, eh?" He laughed and tossed his head back.

"Steve, just ignore him, he's not worth it. We know all you're not gay and you don't have to prove yourself to him by swearing," Natasha hissed and applied more lip balm to her already pink lips, it seemed to be a nervous habit of hers. Steve ignored her.

"Bucky isn't my boyfriend, okay? So just fuck off, alright?" Steve hissed and forced himself to swear. He hated the way it sounded on his tongue. The harshness of it. He'd sworn before obviously, being captain of the wrestling team and surrounded by temperamental, testosterone filled assholes, but he'd rarely use it as an meaningful insult. His mother had always told him to watch his language and tone, and even though he lived with his constantly swearing uncle, he kept his mother's message close to his heart.

Clint clasped his hands, "hallelujah, the ol' Christian captain swore. Praise be. How'd it feel Stevie boy?"

"Get lost, asshole," Steve spat.

He felt Bucky's burning gaze on him but he didn't turn around. He didn't feel guilty about what he said, it was true that Bucky wasn't his boyfriend, but he had basically agreed with Natasha that he was straight- which crushed any chance of being with Bucky, if he ever wanted to. He was stuck in an awkward limbo, it was true that he wasn't gay; but he wasn't straight either. He accepted that he was in the grey area between the two. No one asides himself knew other than Sam Wilson, his best friend.

 

He remembered being wasted and slightly stoned one night while at Sam's after a party at Thor Odinson's house. He'd lain on Sam's bed with the black boy at his side, reminiscing about the party. "Did you manage to get with anyone, dude?" Sam slurred and pulled off his shirt before flinging it to the floor. Steve was next to him, on the side closest to the wall.

"Uh huh, you?" He replied quietly.

"Sorta, I guess. I made out with Colleen Wing for a bit and got as far as touching her boobs before her boyfriend Danny came in."

"I thought she had broken up with that Rand kid."

"Same. You can imagine how confused I was when he pulled her into another room and banged her. She's the hottest girl I've nearly had sex with too. It's a shame really. Who'd you get it on with?" Steve chuckled as Sam tried to impersonate Marvin Gaye.

"Sharon Carter, although technically she only went down on me," Steve confessed

"Damn, son. Didn't you get with her sister Peggy too?"

Steve nodded slowly and smirked slightly.

"Oi oi, my boy Stevie, getting all the ladies. I wouldn't be surprised if you've made some guys homo too, mate," Sam laughed and lit another joint and inhaled the smoke. He passed it to Steve who took a drag before handing it back.

"That's alright with me, man. More choice of who to bang," he giggled but immediately sobered when he realised what he had just said. Sam turned to him with a raised eyebrow as he sucked on the joint and balanced it on the rim of the ashtray on his bedside table.

"You gay, Steve?" He said slowly but without judgment.

The blonde shrugged, "I dunno, man. I couldn't tell you, I've never kissed a guy to know. I like girls and boobs but I don't mind the idea of no-boobs either, you get what I'm sayin'?" he rambled and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

"D'you wanna try?" Sam suggested breezily.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "huh? I don't-"

He was cut off by Sam's lips being pressed against his in a firm kiss. His eyes widened before closing and he cupped sam's face in his large hands. He felt his lips being opened by Sam's tongue and allowed him to deepen to kiss. His best friend tasted like marijuana and cheap vodka but also of the cookies that they'd just been sharing.

They both quietly hummed before Sam broke the kiss and rolled off from where he had been lying on Steve's broad chest.

"Damn, boy. I can see why you get so many girls, your kisses are the shit," Sam laughed and pulled the dying joint back up to his lips. Steve laughed and blushed. "So, what d'you think? As good as kissing a girl?" Sam asked.

Steve nodded. In honesty it felt no different from when he was kissing a girl other than Sam's flat chest and slight stubble.

"Alright cool, mate. No homo though, Stevie. if you're into guys, that's chill with me but as good as that kiss was, I'm into girls. Alright? Sorry to break your heart," he nudged Steve and smiled, offering him the joint again.

"How will I live without your love, oh Samuel. You've destroyed my heart, I shall never love again!" Steve over dramatically cried and flailed his arms around before taking the spliff. "Thanks, Sam."

 

 

 

 

"Listen you lot! If I hear another peep outta you, you can count yourself into another detention next Saturday. Got it?" Fury roared, "I'm trying to do real work and all I can hear is you girls squabbling. I'm not in the mood for your crap so this is your last warning, capeesh?"

Natasha opened her mouth to object, "sir that's rather sexist-"

"Romanova, does it look like a care? No. Now, no speaking," he interrupted and batted his hand at her. He turned around and walked out of the library, stopping at the door and making the I'm-watching-you gesture with his hand. He walked back to the office and collapsed into his chair before continuing his read of Tahiti Tales. He had gotten to the point where the dashing, Scottish pirate prince, Leopold Fitz, had just confessed his true feelings after saving the smart, English scientist, Jemma Simmons. They were now having cheaply written sex.

"Rude pig," Natasha Romanova hissed under her breath. Steve nodded in agreement.

"Don't let him get you down, princess," Clint said with a surprising hint of sincerity. She allowed herself to show him the ghost of a smile.

"He's really putting me on edge," Tony whispered truthfully after Fury leant back on his chair and peered into the library.

"Same," the others (including Bucky) chorused.

"We should shut that door and make sure that he can't open it again," Clint thought out loud.

"How?" Asked Natasha looking at him. Clint shrugged.

Tony spoke up and smiled shyly, shocking everyone, "I think know how."

\---  
hej guys.  
let me know what you think of this story.   
d'you like it? d'you not like it?   
let me know in the comments, i'd really love to know what you, my lovely readers, think.   
-H


	5. tribus

Natasha whipped her head and stared at the young Stark boy. She couldn't help but look at Clint and arch her eyebrow, "You know how to shut the door and want to help Barton break the rules?" She asked sceptically. She absentmindedly drew back a thick strand of red hair that had fallen onto her face and watched the younger boy find the courage to speak.

"Yeah- yes. It's fairly easy really, m-my father had me disassembling and assembling things since before I could walk, and compared with what I was given, this door is nothing," Tony shyly smiled and tried to ignore the way that the other's eyes seemed to pierce his skin.

"How'd you do it then? How d'you shut a door and make sure a teacher can't open it without it being noticeable?" Clint tilted back on his chair at peered at the boy through his shaggy hair that had fallen over his eyes. Natasha had the sudden urge to push it back behind his ears.

"You just have to take a couple screws out of the hinges, as simple as that," Tony replied and gestured to the door, "if you had something sharp that could be a makeshift screwdriver, you'd be rendering the hinges unless and it'll stay closed."

"And you're sure it will work? Is there a specific hinge to fuck up?" Clint asked in curiosity and his voice even held a trace of respect for the Stark boy.

"It's got about an 85% chance that it'll work and any hinge will do but I'd recommend the top one. You'd have to hide the screw as well otherwise Fury will be able to just fix it if he notices it missing, okay?"

Clint nodded and looked around at the other three students that were watching his conversation with Tony, "what? Have you not seen a couple of heroes hatching a plan before? I'll wait until Fury leaves that damn office and then I'll strike." He smirked and revealed a small metal object from his coat pocket; he smirked as he flicked it and a thin blade popped up, much to the surprise of the others.

"What the hell, man? You carry a knife?" Steve hissed and quickly glanced over his shoulder to check that Fury hadn't caught any of their previous conversations. Clint shrugged.

"I gotta do what I gotta do. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Cap, but I have a feeling that Barnes gets me." Clint motioned his head towards Bucky who was watching the group plot with critical eyes. Bucky glared at Clint but shrugged his shoulders and avoided Steve's surprised stare. "Atta boy, Barnes, atta boy."

"'M not a fucking dog," Bucky growled and shrunk into his chair.

"That might be so, but we all know that you're Cap's bitch," Clint smirked. Steve choked on a breath while Bucky glared with fury at the boy. He seemed too tired and/or unwilling to give Clint the reaction he was after. Steve however wasn't.

"Again? I'm not gay, Barton. For god's sake!" Steve hissed and slammed his hand down on Clint's table. The shaggy haired boy snorted and raised an eyebrow at Natasha whom was watching with deep curiosity.

"What do you think, Princess? D'you think that the dear captain of the wrestling likes the dark haired psychopath?"

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows and scrunched up her nose at Clint. She looked sympathetically at Steve who's anger was slowly building up with every word that passed Clint's lips. It's not that Natasha had a problem with gay people, it just wasn't something that she had been exposed to before she had moved to the States, and even then, she had never been around those that were openly non-straight. Her parents had been born into the Russian Orthodox Church, the way most of the Romanovs had before them, and while Natasha had also been raised in the church, in the USSR freedom of religion had not been encouraged and now that she lived in America, it was easier to follow the less conservative Christian churches like the other students in her clique.

In the USSR, homosexuality didn't seem to exist or if it did, it wasn't talked about. But in the western countries she had lived in since her family fled the country, the LGBT community wasn't silent like back home. They spoke out and lived openly.

"Well if he says that he's not gay, he's not gay. Although if you were Steve, it wouldn't matter to me," Natasha answered with a soft smile. Steve huffed and span back in his chair and placed his head upon his desk, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. Natasha looked at Bucky and raised an eyebrow at his stoic face as he watched Steve. The dark haired boy caught Natasha's gaze for a moment before crawling back into himself and distancing himself from the students around him.

Clint shrugged behind her and continued to flick his pocket knife as he waited for Fury to leave his office so he could get on with his plan.

Natasha wasn't sure how long it had been that they'd been sitting in silence before Clint called the all clear and ran up to the heavy fire door at the entrance of the library. He poked his head out of the door and into the corridor to quickly check that Fury was out of sight before he set to work on removing the screw from the door's upper hinge. "You sure that this will work, Stark?" Clint called over his shoulder.

"Yeah. I thought that you'd know how to do this, Barton, anyway," Tony replied and watched as the boy caught the screw with the end of his pen knife and began to twist the small metal object until it dropped from the hinge and into the outstretched palm of Clint. He jumped down from the chair that he had used to gain height and quickly pushed it under the table next to the door. He pulled his hands from the door and watched in glee as the door slammed heavily in front of his face. The small screw was slipped into his sock and in the short time before Fury came looking for the source of the loud bang, he ran back to his chair and settled into a well practiced façade of ignorance.

"Usually I'm trying to get doors to open, I've never needed to semi permanently shut one," Clint muttered hastily and returned his gaze to the door.

"Of course," Natasha huffed and rolled her eyes before wiping her face of any emotion that may hint to Fury that the shut door was their work.

Fury could be heard before being seen. That seemed to be part of his legendary reputation, he could be on the other side of the school but when he was angered, the whole establishment would quake under his stomping, expensive-shoe-wearing feet. Everyone looked at each other for a split second, perhaps scouting for anything that may betray them. Barnes kept his head on the desk, with his eyes almost closed but still open enough to see the oncoming storm; Steve rhythmically tapped his pen on the sheet of A4 lined paper in front of him, trying to calm the anxious thudding of his heart; Tony twiddled with his glasses, picturing unsolved equations in his mind to try and make him seem to spaced out to have noticed anything; Natasha smoothed her hair and worked her small, silver ring up and down her finger; and Clint just stared straight at the door without a care in the world.

"Which one of you asshats shut this door?" Fury thundered as he swung the door open and stepped into the library. He glared at each student with enough venom to kill half of Manhattan.

"Sir, I don't think you can call us ass-"

"Shut up, Rogers! Who did it? Who shut this door after specific instructions not to?" He yelled. Bucky pulled his head from the table at the loud voice and furrowed his eyebrows. "Was it you, Barton?" Fury growled.

"No sir, I haven't moved." Clint flashed a smile of fake innocence. Fury narrowed his eyes and stomped closer to the boy. He pulled his hand from his pocket and moved to grab Clint by the collar of his jacket but stopped just before and instead pointed a long, scarred finger at his face.

"Listen here, Barton", he spat, "Out there, you may think that you're invincible and the coolest guy on the block, but this is my detention and you will obey my rules. _Understand Mister_? Otherwise I can make your life hell without batting an eyelid. You see-"

"Professor, Barton is telling the truth. He was sitting there the entire time and the door just shut. No one moved," Natasha interrupted hastily, halting Fury's rant and turning his attention onto her. He looked at her skeptically.

"Yeah sir, no one moved. The door must be faulty or something," Tony added. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. He resisted the urge to adjust his glasses on his nose, Bruce had told him many times that it was his tell. He had lost countless games of poker because of it. Instead he scratched behind his ear and tried his best to maintain as much eye contact as he could with the raging teacher.

"Faulty door, huh? Well if I find out that you little scumbags had anything to do with this or if you step outta line in any way, I will reward _all of you_ with another month of detentions." And with that, Fury turned on his heel and stormed back into the librarian's office, allowing the library door to slam shut behind him with a curse under his breath and a balled fist in his pocket. He really did hate kids.

 

Now you must be wondering why as man like Nicholas J. Fury would take the job of a high school teacher when he ultimately hated everything about the school, its faculty and its students. There were a few reasons as to why he did chose the profession.

The first reason was that Marvel paid well; it gave its staff a very comfortable salary with multiple perks that brought some joys to the grey life of Fury.

Secondly, he wanted to make sure that at least some children would grow up to be well informed in the world of politics. He had seen the way that ignorance had caused the pain and suffering of people all throughout his country. He had seen the way that the upper-classes looked down upon the poor and the looks of distrust and hatred in the eyes of his white neighbours. He wanted these kids- these kids that he mostly despised, but who were mostly the children of the wealthy and influential- to see the world with an open mind, and god forbid, but if they were to ever entered the world of politics he wanted them to help people and not make the same ignorant decisions of their predecessors.

And thirdly, there were students that he actually liked in some sense. He taught both of Principal Coulson's kids; Daisy and Grant, and both of them were as smart as their father, even if they were a bit stubborn and grumpy at times. Another kid- Matthew Murdock, and his friend Franklin, weren't too bad. Both were from a poor neighbourhood and were only able to get in thanks to Coulson's newly introduced scholarship scheme. They both wanted to be lawyers- set up their own firm, they said- Fury actually found himself wanting them to succeed. And there was a very promising politician in his class, Gamora, a young mixed race girl from the projects- he could imagine her going on to do good. So Fury wasn't completely without a heart- it was just a very exclusive heart.

 

"Thank fuck he bought it," Steve sighed and allowed his posture to relax. He placed his head on the desk and turned his face to look at Natasha besides him. She also let out the obvious tension from her shoulders and smiled at him before turning her attention towards Clint and Tony.

"If I get a detention for anything else stupid that you think up, I will beat you to death with my make-up bag. And don't think I won't or that it won't hurt because I'm deadly serious and my bag weighs a tonne- like every girl's does. You don't wanna fuck with me," she hissed. The boys all shared a worried and slightly terrified look with one another- even Bucky seemed slightly concerned for his safety.

"Well we _weren't_ caught and won't _be_ caught. Darlin', now that I know that I have frickin' Nikola Tesla on my side, we'll be fine. Am I right, Stark?" Clint smirked and rocked back on his chair. Tony looked at him uneasily.

"I'm not exactly on your team, I just didn't want Fury putting me on edge every two seconds," he shrugged and looked down at his desk. Steve and Natasha snorted and turned back away from Clint's narrowing eyes.

"Well just you wait, Stark, I'll be needing your expertise in a short while I believe."

 


	6. quattuor

"I'm so damn bored. I wish I could just do some calculus or something," Tony groaned with his cheek pressed firmly onto the tabletop. His eyes glanced at the three other students he could see- all had their heads resting on their tables with sleepy breaths coming from their lips.

"I'm just gonna pretend that I didn't hear that, Stark. If you say something that stupid again, I'll be compelled to beat your ass for being such a fucking saddo," Clint rose to a straight backed sitting position and narrowed his eyes at Tony.

"I'm surprised you even know what  _compelled_ means, Barton," Tony snarked back. Clint tried to glower back but he couldn't help but allow the corners of his lips to turn up slightly in a rare and quiet smile.

"Shut your mouth or I'll wipe the floor with you."

The smaller boy coughed to cover a cough and placed his head back onto the table. Clint sensed that this was a new side of the Stark heir that not many had ever seen- one that allowed himself to laugh and to stand up to people in his own way. He was pretty sure that the school's bullies left Tony alone for the most part- he was one of the richest teenagers in the city- probably the country. The only stick that Tony would get from the other rich kids would be for him being  _new money_ \- being from a family that actually worked for their wealth instead of it being passed down from generation to generation along with titles and estates.

Since Coulson had been made Principal, there had been many changes to break down the strong walls that surrounded each clique and integrate the school to a more acceptable standard. Clint was the only person in his family that had even come close to gaining a high school diploma and he was sure that if it wasn't for Coulson's kind heart and incorruptible morals, he wouldn't have that title.

You see, Clint had never  _really_ thought about his future. From a young age he had assumed that he'd follow his father and uncles into the army and end up being blown up or butchered during his first tour in some far flung hellhole that the US had no real reason for sending him to. A less bleak future he had imagined included him going to Riker's for either robbery or narcotics distribution, this was more likely in his opinion. However since being accepted into Marvel by Coulson, he had allowed himself to dream, to hope for a better future- a life that wouldn't conclude in a violent death or a slow rotting behind steel bars, caged like a dangerous animal.

He found himself excelling at gymnastics, not in class of course, but after school he had permission from Coach Thanos to use the gymnasium as long as it was empty and do as he pleased. He had realised that he had a knack for acrobatics, martial arts- which Coulson's wife Melinda taught him- and weirdly, archery. Academically, he had surprised himself and Miss Maximoff with his proficiency in German, Russian and Latin and he had even briefly considered joined the Cultures Club- until he remembered how hard he'd fought to keep his  _tough guy_ reputation and decided he wasn't willing to risk it.

Clinton Francis Barton finally had choices. And he decided that he was not going to follow his brother's poor example of how to live a life.

"As sad as he is, Anthony has a point. I'm going to end up dying of boredom by the time this detention is over," Natasha yawned with Steve nodding his head lightly in agreement. Even Barnes on the back table seemed to agree.

It was only about 10:45- a time where he'd usually be halfway through a session of Aikido or Krav Maga with Ms May. She had hidden her disappointment well when Clint had told her that he wouldn't be able to make practice because of his detention, but the glint of annoyance and being let down still shone in her eyes, until he promised that he'd try his best in future to not get caught doing his next punishable plan. At that she had smiled and laughed; which resulted in Coulson throwing a huff and exasperated eye roll at the two of them.

Boredom niggled at the nape of his neck after having slowly swallowed his spine and advancing towards the rest of his nervous system and brain. It's grey, smoky limbs and digits wrapping around his chest and gradually piercing his skin and into his flesh and bones, he could think of so many better things than spend his day in detention.

Perhaps he could've headed out of the city with some friends after training with Melinda, maybe head out of Manhattan and into Brooklyn for some lunch perhaps, or Coney Island. He was being stupid, he knew, but he hadn't been to Coney Island since he was about eight, when his parents were still around and Barney was happy.

They had spent the day at the beach, basking in the August sun and fighting against the swarms of people on both land and sea. The whole scene stunk of SPF 30 sun cream and cheap vanilla ice cream as well as the mixed scent of sweat and salt water. Clint couldn't remember going on any rides, maybe they hadn't been open, but nothing could tarnish the perfect postcard picture memory. He remembered the feeling of sand against and in between his toes as he ran, feeling freezing water crash into him as Barney picked him up and swung him into the waves, laughing constantly.

His mom had bought sandwiches and crisps along with pieces of fruit and cans of warm coca-cola. By the time lunch had arrived, everything was heavily dusted with sand and squashed. He remembered his mother, wearing an old sixties-style green swimsuit, a beaming grin on her face as she wiped ice cream from her nose, his father still wore his stern expressions but even he had a look of contentment under the summer sky.

Barney had had a tan that had darkened since the end of the school year, the sun had also lightened his red hair which after being submerged in sea water; had dried into tight curls. Clint, himself, had been bought a pair of bright superman trunks by his mom and had taken pride in them, running backwards and forwards with one arm ahead of him with one behind while he made  _whoooshing_ sounds. Barney had told him to shut up. Clint had ignored him.

Maybe in the summer he'd go back to Coney Island, sit on the sand and gaze out of the sea. But without Mom and Dad and Barney, it would just be a shadow of a better time. A time that he prayed would return every night. He missed who he had been, he missed every aspect of his pre-1979 life. He hated how everything had changed.

\- - -

The world of Marvel High was a web of complex social structures and groups, everyone  _knew_  someone who  _knew_  someone else meaning that rumours, no matter how petty and small, spread like a wildfire in a drought ridden forest. From the smallest smoking ember, the whole school could be set ablaze. Each year had a rumour that defined it.

In the previous school year, which ended in the summer of '83, the main talk was of two seniors, Ricky Rocket and Groot Flora, who apparently had been seen making out together at a party. The boys, when confronted with the rumour, had laughed and proceeded to call each other  _honey_ and  _sweetheart_ whenever they were on the school grounds together. But everyone  _knew_ it was false. Ricky had a girlfriend already, at another school; and Groot- he had always made it clear that he had no intentions in dating anyone, male or female. The school body  _decided_  it was because he followed a strange religion that banned dating and marriage. Obviously.

In '82, the rumour was that Joy Maechum had become leader of a demonic Japanese cult called The Hand. No one knew how that tale had come about, maybe it was because she had developed a habit of saying  _konnichiwa_ instead of  _hello_ or because once she came back from her spring break in Osaka, she had stopped wearing her crucifix to school for some reason.

And in '81, it was  _revealed_ that the school newspaper's editor, Karen Page, was really a pupil of the rival  _Xavier's School_ across the river and had infiltrated  _Marvel High_ to try and find any documents that would discredit the school or its faculty in anyway. But it had turned out that Karen wasn't a spy; she was just a bit nosey.

However, in 1980 the school was recovering from the discovery of the elderly biology Professor Steiner, who was found to have worked for the Nazis during the War as a 'genetic researcher' in numerous Eastern European death camps. His real name was Baron Wolfgang von Strucker and he was wanted by the Europeans and Israelis since the end of the war; however he had somehow evaded capture and ended up in South America before taking his chances and moving to the US in the 1960s as Wilhelm Steiner. With the influx of East German refugees flooding into the US at the time, he had been undetected by the authorities and was able to apply for citizenship and many high paying positions in educational facilities where his 'experience as medical professional' made him desirable.

That was until the arrival of the Maximoffs towards the end of the 70s. Miss Wanda and her brother, Pietro, were the children of Polish holocaust survivors; whom after the liberation relocated to Sokovia to start afresh- away from the heartbreaking memories that came with their old Łódź apartment.

Memories of the greatest of times: that one Friday during Hanukkah where the whole extended Maximoff family made it to the synagogue on time and afterwards spent the night swapping stories and gifts; and the summer day where they joined their neighbours for picnic in the public garden; and their wedding day where the whole apartment building was filled with the shouts of  _Mazel Tov!_ from family, friends and even strangers.

But also memories of the worst of times: when their synagogue was set on fire and their rabbi publicly shamed; when they were forced to isolate themselves by wearing the blue Star of David on their arms; when their neighbours, who had once upon a time invited them to dinners and christmases and baptisms and parties, gave them up to their occupiers; when they were imprisoned in the ghetto and then a camp, branded like animals and pulled close to the edge of death.

A man at their labour camp was feared by all, prisoner and Nazi alike; A scarred, eye-patch-wearing German Baron. Both Erik and Magda had seen the Baron up close, while being  _tested_ upon- a period which left the couple with both physical and psychological scars etched deep.

Growing up, Pietro and Miss Wanda both knew of the Baron from their parents stories and the newspapers. They knew all about his peculiar facial scars; his piercing, malicious eyes; his slight tick whenever he referred to the minority groups he tortured (one would not notice it unless they paid close attention to his hands when speaking to him).

So following their parents deaths and their own shared departure from Sokovia for the final time, they moved to New York for a fresh start- much their like their parents only 30 or so years before. Pietro became a running coach for their local Jewish youth team and Wanda turned her focus towards teaching. Where she met the tormentor of hundreds of thousands of innocents. The monsters that plagued her parents and now her.

She had recognised him right away, and spoke to an old friend whose father worked for Mossad, who sent her a copy of the Strucker file. Once she was certain she handed the file and his whereabouts into the authorities, returning home to Pietro with a relieved, satisfied grin on her face.

The Baron had been extradited to Poland following his arrest, where he was sentenced to life at a grim, notorious maximum security prison run by the hardest KGB guards that the Warsaw Pact could muster.

Meanwhile the students and staff of  _Marvel High_ remained stunned, disgusted and with the question  _how did we allow this man in?_ on the tips of everyone's tongue.

\- - -

"Barton...Barton...CLINT!" Natasha hissed and slammed her hand on the desk, Clint shot up from his sleeping position wide eyed and startled.

Natasha was staring at him with wide eyes and a worried look etched across her flushed features. Her bright red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she had obviously applied a fresh coat of lip gloss, as her lips were now a shiny pink. She tilted her head and awkwardly put her hand on the edge of Clint's desk. He found himself staring at her nails, all precisely painted red with a little black patten in the middle.

"What?" Clint yawned, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

"You were saying some weird things in your sleep," she said quieter, almost a soft hushed tone. Clint looked over at Steve, Tony and James; all of whom were dozing.

"Huh? Really? What sort- of things?" Clint asked nervously. He knew that he had a habit of having speaking in his sleep, even when he was having a light nap he could narrate his whole dream unwillingly.

His heart rate spiked as he desperately tried to recollect his dream before Natasha could cause him extreme embarrassment.

_His dad is swaying on his feet, a bottle of jack Daniels in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He's looming above Clint, like Mount Everest, casting a large shadow over him. The room is cold, so cold that it feels like ice cubes are being run across his skin and he can feel his blood freezing in his veins._

_There is no noise apart from his own heavy, pained breathing. He can feel blood trickling from his eyebrow- or maybe it's his nose. He doesn't know. All he knows is that Harold Barton is getting closer towards him and no matter how far Clint crawls away, he is still the same distance. He puts his hands to his ears- his aids aren't in. Harold's mouth snarls to reveal razor sharp teeth- like a cheap horror movie vampire's- and he seems to be shrieking or yelling or something and Clint just can't hear him._

_He's panicking now as his father's hands turn to claws and he draws ever closer._

_-go away! Stop! Stop! Please! Go away! Stop!_

_Clint keeps repeating over and over, not that he can hear, but he can feel the vibrations in his throat so he knows that he's not going mad._

_Harold reaches out a shrivelled and malformed hand towards Clint and-_

That's where his dream ended.

Natasha looked at him strangely but with a severe look of pity. "You kept calling for help, and saying  _go away_. Who was after you Clint?"

Clint opened his mouth to answer truthfully, before he realised and frowned deeply. His lips drew into a hard line before he answered shortly, "none of your goddamn fucking business,  _princess."_


	7. quinque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a homophobic character (no f- slur used)

"...none of your goddamn fucking business,  _princess_ ".

"Why do you have to be such an asshole?" Natalia spat with a mixture of anger and mild hurt. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned away from Barton- the same way that James had seen the popular girls do in the movies. Natalia reminded him a bit of both Sandy and Rizzo from _Grease_ \- she had the perfect-good-girl look of Sandy but the self-confidence and assurance of Rizzo; from what he'd seen anyway.

"Sorry, princess, that's just the way I am," Barton muttered. Bucky rolled his eyes. He too had heard Barton calling out in his sleep and had seen the way his features had scrunched up in fear, he had been as clear as a clean window pane. Bucky got it though, Barton obviously had a reputation based on his masculinity that needed upholding, and in all honesty- who was he to judge people on how they dealt with their emotions.

What surprised him was Natalia's reaction. Why was she so pissed off by Barton's comment? An hour or so ago, she had just let all of his jibes and insults pass over, ignoring him or making harsh comments back, but now- why did she even care? Why did she seem so hurt by his barbed reaction to her prying?

He found the people around him a bit terrifying but also utterly mesmerising and interesting; each one an enigma that he could never fully understand. Stark was obviously a major overachiever; probably getting A+s in all of his subjects, the boy seemed to have knowledge beyond his few years. Bucky had heard that the kid was the son of Howard and Maria Stark, a hotshot businessman and progressive Democratic senator. Anthony Stark was twitchy and nervous but Bucky sensed a quiet, simmering plethora of self-confidence.

Clinton Barton was an open book in comparison. A boy with anger, bereavement, confidence and a whole alphabet's worth of issues, that more than likely stemmed from his childhood; pushing him into the path of fragile and toxic masculinity- as clearly shown with the events that had just unfolded. Bucky had seen him around school sometimes; hanging around with Scott Lang and Kate Bishop and pretty much causing havoc in most lessons. Except, world studies; he actually seemed to care about that lesson. Whenever Bucky was waiting at the Principal's office, which was a lot of the time in all fairness, he always saw Barton at some point either speaking to Coulson or waiting for him too. There must have been a reason why he hadn't been kicked out yet. From what he knew, Barton wasn't paying the $17,000-a-year fee and was on some kind of scholarship or scheme or something-  _so why doesn't the Principal or governing bodies expel him and give the place to someone less troublesome and worthy?_ Bucky had heard some of the girls in his Science Class say.

The only person that he could even distantly empathise with and modestly understand was Natalia. Like him, she had obviously spent time in the Soviet Union, and perhaps other Warsaw Pact countries; but unlike him, it seemed that Natalia had taken to life in the capitalist west like a duck to water whereas he had found the change rather drastic and it seemed that it was his own personality and reputation that had hindered building any resemblance of a friendship since he turned up at Marvel High a couple of semesters ago.

Bucky found himself desperately missing the East some days.

 He missed his old friend Helmut to some degree, the German had been an ass to him for most of his stay in the GDR but at least he was someone to talk to. And at least he recognised that Bucky was an actual person and not just an invisible being. He had enjoyed his time with the morally-questionable baron upon reflection; when Helmut wasn't in one of his frightening bad moods and was instead in one of his rebellious phases, they'd sneak out of their government provided apartment building and find new ways to get over the Wall into the West's symbolic beacon of freedom, West Berlin. They'd creep into nightclubs and bellow  _Don't You Want Me_  and  _99 Luftballons_ in each other's faces at the tops of their lungs. And sometimes, on the nights when they were too tired to make the dangerous, landmine ridden passage to the Western side, they'd go to one of the warehouse raves that blasted techno so loud that it'd leave their ears ringing for next couple of days.

One of their most frequented was an abandoned textiles factory, not far from The Eisfabrik, called the  _Herzschlag Hotel_. It boasted four multi-storey wings with a large open plan warehouse connecting them that had once been stuffed to the brim with weaving looms and sewing machines but had been converted into the perfect dance floor with big speakers, laser lights and a multiple exits in case of a Stasi raid.

Helmut and Bucky loved the  _Herzschlag_ _._ They loved they way that just by travelling down a corridor or going up one flight of stairs could lead you into another decade and country entirely. The main warehouse was a techno dream, but they each had their own favourite floor. Bucky's was the East Wing's punk rock and new romantic rooms were he could blend in among the oddly dressed, black-clad dancers. He'd spray and gel his hair until it stood up straight from his scalp and make him look like the heavily made-up punks that the GDR seemed to breed. He'd don his black leather jacket, Doc Martens, ripped jeans and eyeliner, a perfect camouflage and disguise to get around town and be unrecognisable to any of his father's colleagues who he may happen to pass.  

Helmut preferred the rap floor where rival MCs would be allowed to fight it out on stage lyrically while the dj did their thing. Like Bucky, he too would don a costume of sorts; baggy leather bomber jacket, black tshirt, skin-tight jeans and and hair gelled into spikes. They'd spend the night wandering through the rooms, never leaving the other's side, dancing away to all the rock, hip-hop and techno in the world. Until one night when Bucky messed up.

It was February and the boys had decided to visit the Herzschlag after having spent the start of the new year in Leipzig where their fathers had board meetings to attend. With Helmut's father being his own dad's boss, Bucky was allowed to join the Zemos in their lavish Saxony estate. The air was crisp and fresh in comparison with East Berlin's but he was more than happy to return 'home' and party once more. 

The pair had decided to just go to the main warehouse around 3:30 when the dj had warmed the crowd up and the light show was in full swing. The bass of each jump in the music sent ripples across their skin and seemed to sink deep into their bones, putting itself into their DNA. The floor was completely packed, bodies squashed together like sardines while all jumping and dancing away to the pulsating beat. Bucky usually disliked eurodance but he felt as though the electric atmosphere made the ringing ears and repetitive songs worth it, Helmut grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, so much so that they were almost chest to chest and they could each feel the heat pulsating from the other's body. " _Was geht ab_?" Bucky yelled into Helmut's ear, " _what's up_?"

" _Nothing, I just couldn't see you. I don't need us getting split up._ "

" _Oh bless, would you miss me too much, Zemo_?"

"Fuck off, Barnes," Helmut replied in English to make sure that Bucky understood him completely. The long haired boy threw his head back as he laughed and took a sip of his cheap beer before passing the can to his friend who took a great gulp. "I can't drink too much, my father father and I are flying to Budapest tomorrow for a meeting."

Bucky's eyes widened, " _how come you didn't tell me?"_

_"I didn't think it mattered. I'll be back in a month so we can go out then, if that's what you're worried about. Maybe you should consider making some other friends Barnes, ja?"_

_"Oh whatever, asshole. Have fun in Hungary. I'm going to get another drink, you can wait here. I don't care if we get split or whatever,"_ Bucky announced in a cold voice and turned on his heel away from Helmut and all the dancers that had surrounded them and stomped off towards the makeshift bar. He was angry with his friend, he didn't know why for sure but he felt hurt in some way. Wasn't he important enough to know when his best friend would be leaving the country? He was surprised that Helmut hadn't even made a passing comment about it. It would be strange without his presence, even for a month, as he didn't have many friend outside of his father's colleague's kids and the odd people he may meet on his outings. 

He wanted to just leave the club, leave Helmut to find his own goddamn way home, leave him to think about what it's like to not be told when someone leaves. Yes, Bucky had abandonment issues- it was as clear to see as the sun on a summer's sky. 

He ordered a beer and once the can hit his hand, he walked towards the warehouse doors away from the sweaty, grinding bodies and deafening Soviet synth. Once he had passed the threshold, the cold air hit him like a brickwall and he started to feel his brain start to slowly sober up, which he stopped by chugging his can in a few deep swallows. The site that the factory stood upon was mostly wasteland that had grew around the industrial buildings like a flood; he booted a lonely stone at watched as it sailed through the air and hit something far off.

" _For fucks sake, James! Why'd you run off like that_?" Helmut appeared behind him, face red and sweaty while he struggled to get his breath back. " _You're such a damn child!_ " Bucky rubbed his eyes and pushed his friend away from him with an unsteady arm. 

"Leave me alone, Helmut. I want to go home." He replied with a slight slur in his tone. Helmut ran a hand through his short hair and huffed,  _"I was going to tell you, James. But it never came up and its not like I'm not coming back. You won't even notice that I'm gone."_

"Of course, I'll notice, you ass! You basically said it yourself: I don't have any other friends- and I am sure as hell not going to start hanging out with that Zola kid!" Bucky yelled. Helmut glanced around quickly, relaxing slightly when he realised that the only people who could be listening in were some punks that were currently throwing up and a few couples who were drunkenly making out against the  _Herzschlag's_ walls. He stepped forward and placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders, stabilising his slight swaying. The taller boy watched Helmut in confusion as the German muttered, "I'll try to get back earlier, I'm not promising anything, but-"

He was cut off by Bucky's lips crashing onto his.

 

 

Bucky blinked. He didn't want to think about Zemo nor East Berlin nor the goddamn  _Heartbreak Hotel._ He ran his eyes around the library, where they briefly met with Steve Roger's tender blue ones. The blonde had a weird look on his face, a mixture of curiosity and tenderness, it made Bucky feel uneasy. He was so used to being scowled and shouted at or being completely ignored, this was too different for him. 

Rogers confused him greatly. When surrounded by the wrestling team in the hallways, in class, in the gym, he always seemed so full of himself. He seemed to be bursting with self-confidence and arrogance. From what Bucky had heard, every girl in the school had thrown themselves at his feet. He had everything; athletic talent, friends, respect, girls- so why was he looking at Bucky with that weird look and acting so skittish earlier. 

He had never spoken to Steve other than today when he gave him some painkillers and he had to say, he was an extremely good looking guy. He shook his head, he had promised himself to stop thinking like that. 

Rogers was still staring at him so he hunched himself over until his forehead touched the cool table and broke into a fit of coughing that scraped his chest and rubbed his throat raw.

"I think that the psychopath is dying over there. I believe it's our duty as god-fearing, patriotic Americans to let him," Clint joked from somewhere on his right.

"I'm not American," Natalia retorted.

"And I'm an atheist," Anthony mumbled.

"And what about  _love thy neighbour_?" Steve drawled, Bucky had the impression that they were all now staring at him as his coughing fit continued.

"Damn it, people. It was joke. But really, think of all the future victims we can save if we just let him bite the dust."

There was a loud sound of a chair moving, followed by the rustle of a plastic bag and the pad of footsteps. Then Bucky felt something being placed on his table and slowly opened his eyes. Steve's hand lay gently on the tabletop near his hunched shoulder but not touching, the other hand was holding onto the top of a small, bottle of water. The brunette scrunched his eyebrows together and narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

"Just so you don't die," Steve said softly with a small, friendly smile and placed the bottle down closer to Bucky, who just looked at him with shock. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps thank you or maybe what? but nothing came out and he just carried on staring at the handsome, blonde boy. "You're welcome," his tone implied that he knew what Bucky was trying to say. He flashed a grin before turning from the table and walking back to his own seat next to Natalia, leaving Bucky's heartbeat resembling a herd of elephants stomping across the African savanna.  

"Fuck," he whispered to himself and placed his head back onto the desk.

 

-

 

"James! What the hell have you done?" George Barnes yelled as entered the apartment. Bucky was lay on his bed, Walkman plugged in and deafening himself with Queen, but shot up when he heard his father storm in. His pulse spiked and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. He slowly removed his headphones and warily left his bedroom and crept into the living room. 

" _Entschuldigung, vater_?" Bucky replied. His father was stomping up and down the hallway, from the kitchen into the living room, dressed smartly in his business suit but upon closer inspection, Bucky noticed how disheveled he appeared. His dark hair, usually greased back, was messed up and his growing number of grey hairs were more prominent. 

"English, Jim!" George barked. He stormed towards his son and grabbed him by his collar before shoving into a wall. Bucky let out a yelp of surprise and pain as he felt his back hit the cold brick. "I've just been told by the board of directors that I'm being relocated to goddamn Sverdlovsk in the USSR! Apparently so I can help in talks with Kazakhstan and Russia but I know that it's bullshit. And you know why I think that? Huh?" He waited for his son to answer.

"Why?" Bucky choked out, panic rising as his father moved his grip to his collars; the neckline of his sweater was slowly pressing into his neck and limiting the air that he could breathe. 

"Heinrich told me that this move was finalised because of  _your_  actions. What actions were those then, James? Tell me!"

Bucky swallowed as his father's grip got tighter.

"Answer me, James!" He bellowed into the boy's face. Tears of shame and fear fell from his son's stormy blue eyes and rolled down his cheeks like thick rain drops. "Answer me!"

"I was really drunk and I kissed him. I kissed Helmut.  I didn't mean to, I swear, dad. 'M not a queer or anything. I was just drunk!" He howled. 

A little part of his brain knew what he was saying wasn't completely true. He wanted to tell his father that he wasn't  _that_  drunk; and that his friend had kissed back eagerly and he had concluded the night happily in Heinrich Zemo's apartment, in bed with his only son; and that Helmut had said that they'd do it again when he came back from Budapest. But he didn't. He had promised that he'd keep his mouth shut.

"I always knew that you were a fairy, I always knew that you were going to disappoint me. But to bring my boss' son down to your filthy level and get us exiled to the middle of the bloody USSR, you are worse than I ever imagined. Your mother would be ashamed of you, god rest her soul." George let go of Bucky and ignored him as he dropped to the floor in a heap.

His father marched into the living room leaving Bucky sobbing. He had been such an idiot, how could he ever have let himself do what he did, of course there would be consequences. He brought a baron's son into shame, if anyone in or out of the HYDRA Mining Company  were to find out; it would cast all of the Zemo family in a dirty shadow. 

Now he was going to leave his home again. Now he was going to have to live with his father's anger everyday, unable to escape. Now he was going to lose his freedom. And now he was going to lose his only friend in the world.

He hated himself.


	8. sex

_"...Your small town blues, they're melting away."_ An office chair went spinning violently after being forcefully propelled by a large size-ten foot against a cold, rickety, metal desk.

_"Don't make a brand new start of it, in Old New York."_ Its wheels screeched as the chair flew from book covered wall to book covered all.

_"You always make it there, you make it anywhere."_ The black man, inhabiting the chair, stretched out his arms almost as if doing an impersonation of _Christ the Redeemer_ and threw his head back as he belted out another line.

_"Its up to you, New York, New York."_ he spun his chair again and brought it to a hasty stop by kicking his heels into the floor. The chair let out a creak of relief and as both the erratic movements and singing ceased.

Fury tilted his head back and pulled a pair of thick rimmed, circular glasses from his pocket and pushed them up to the bridge of his nose. Deep lines of stress created ravines between his eyebrows that would still appear when a rare smile would grace his mouth. He twiddled a pen between his fingers, beginning to feel as bored as the five troublesome students in the library. With the door shut, he felt uneasy. The teens could be setting fire to books, running riot or stabbing each other (which he wouldn't mind them doing as long as it wasn't on his watch). On the other hand, it meant that he could have some peace and quiet before lunch in an hour and pretty much do as he pleased around school without worrying about having to socialise  with other faculty members and pupils.

And as he had been spinning around the office, belting out Frank Sinatra, he had been struck with an idea. A boring and useless idea, but an idea nonetheless. All the essays that he had brought in his battered, cream-coloured Ford Cortina to mark had been finished and the majority of them had disappointed him, there were a few that impressed him.

He had his politics class write a manifesto for their own parties that had to outline their views, promises, party history and other miscellaneous information.

Alexi Shostakov had handed in a copy of Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto. Grant had given him a surprising conservative and right-wing piece; a total opposite of his parents' extremely liberal viewa, and Gamora's party was one that offered immigrants safe passage into the US along with suitable temporary accommodation; which Fury guessed that it had been influenced by her own family's migration.

All of his class' work now lay in his black messenger bag at the bottom of the desk, leaning against one of the thin legs. And he had tossed Ms Hill's cheap copy of Tahiti Tales somewhere behind his shoulder. He had been very underwhelmed at the ending; Jemma Simmons ended up leaving Leopold Fitz so that she could marry a rich lord back home.

He hated detention duty, but it meant extra money and was partially required in his contract. And as much has he was disliked and the cause of annoyance for many students, he knew that compared to some of the other detention wardens; he was a heaven-send. He gave the students menial tasks that he didn't really care about and just let them sit in silence; unlike Coach Thanos who was well known for making his students do military-style drills.

Anyway, he knew that in one of the storerooms nearby were the records room of every student and faculty member at the school, and as we have already established, Nicholas J. Fury was extremely nosy.

In all truthfulness, he didn't actually care about the backstories of the many faces at Marvel, but what else was he to do? Also it would be an ample chance to see what was written about him and allow him to perhaps rewrite a few things- only if they were incorrect of course.

-  
Clint ran his fingers over the spines of the paperback books that lined the shelves of the library's ground floor. Some were clearly worn after years of popular usage such as the blue copy of  _The Great Gatsby,_ which he personally didn't mind but he did find a bit long winded; the red  _All Quiet On The Western Front_ , which he found breathtaking; and  _Le Petit Prince._

At this small, brightly coloured book, he stopped the movement of his fingers and pulled it out from its place. He flicked the pages between his thumbs, smiling in private nostalgia.

"I didn't know that you knew French?" A voice from behind his shoulder startled him and sent the book falling from his grasp. Luckily his reflexes were fast enough to catch it before it landed on the floor with what would've been an audible thud.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, princess," he growled. Natasha laughed lightly and stepped out of his blind spot. He couldn't help but break his stern expression with a smile when he saw that her usual pout had turned into a soft smile.

"Sorry, Clinton."

"Clint. The only person that calls me Clinton is Coulson when I've fucked up," he chuckled. Natasha nodded causing her red hair to fall out of the loose ponytail she had just put it in, about ten minutes- or perhaps a lifetime- ago. Time moved differently in detention, you could look at the clock above the door and it'd be half past, then you'd bite your nails for ten seconds and then check the clock again to see that it was now quarter-past the next hour.

"Okay, Clint. So do you know French?" She said, returning his attention back to the child's book in his hand. Clint shook his head as he looked at the little boy on the cover.

"Nope, I haven't had the chance to. But my mom read the English version to me and my brother when I was a kid. You?"

"I haven't read the French version, but my father read me it in either Ukrainian or Russian while we lived in Kiev. It was my favourite book as a child, along with my father's book of Slavic fairytales. I wish I had a brother or sister, I always wanted to have one to play with."

Clint snorted, "you didn't miss much. I would've happily been an only child. Barney has always been a dick."

"How so?" Natasha asked gently. Clint shrugged, reminding himself not to just give away his life story to some girl that happened to be extremely interesting and pretty- okay, Clint would allow himself this; Natasha wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful. Bright red hair, green eyes, almost clear skin apart from the spots dotted on her forehead and cheeks that she had covered in makeup, and an air of fierceness and confidence that radiated from her very being.

"He's just an ass." And that was all that he was ready to say on the matter. "So you lived in Kiev? How come?"

Natasha picked at her nails, wondering whether to answer with a lie or the truth- although the truth was more unrealistic than her usual lie. She settled on a mix of the two.

"My mom was a civil servant in a Russian firm, she was given a promotion so we had to move from Moscow to Kiev. I lived there for 5 years before coming to the US." She smiled and bushed her hair back as it fell over her eyes.

"Cool," Clint replied, "I bet it was a culture-shock."

"Yeah," Natasha said, trying to end the questioning on her pre-1980s life, "so what do your parents do?"

He seemed to ignore the question for a minute, instead he continued to thumb the small French book in his hand. Natasha was about to take it as an end of their conversation and head back to her seat, when he answered, "my folks passed away when I was thirteen, but before then my father was a butcher and my ma was a cleaner at the rich folk's houses." He put the book down and moved onto the next set of shelves, leaving Natasha behind him.

She blinked and followed him, placing a soft hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry for your loss, Clint." Clint shrugged and picked up another book, something about a  _Jason Bourne._

"Well it was gonna happen one way or another."

He threw the red haired girl a tight lipped smile- which could perhaps be classed as a subtle grimace- and with a resigned sigh, slipped the worn book back onto the shelf and walked away from Natasha with long strides. Strides and a gait that warned her not to follow and that their conversation was over, strides and a gait that told Natasha that maybe the troublesome boy was more than just a thorn in the school-body's side, a boy who's exterior was only the tip on a titanic iceberg.

 

Steve stood from his table and wandered around to stretch his legs, eventually ending up at James' table. The dark haired boy was lay with his head against the table's surface, not asleep- just trying to ignore his surroundings. Steve looked to see if Tony was still in his seat- he'd seen both Natasha and Barton go off somewhere deeper into the library and now he found Stark's seat empty too; possibly having gone off in search for some science or math textbook or whatever.

He stood a few seats away from James and tried to collect his thoughts. What if James didn't want to interact with him? What if the looks that he thought he'd seen the brunette give him we're nothing more than wishful thinking on his behalf? This guy could be straight and guess about his queerness and proceed to tell the school and make his life much harder.

Yeah there were other queer kids at Marvel High that he knew about- thanks to Sam's impeccable people-and-gossiping skills- such as Val Brunhild, Wade Wilson and even Thor's step brother Loki. But still, they were different. They were already seen as weird before the school knew about their queerness, but Steve was the so called king-of-Marvel; captain of the wrestling team, nephew of a well known war hero, future prom king. If the school knew he was bisexual or whatever, how much would his status change.

He cast the thought from his mind and built up the courage to knock on the table and flash his most charismatic and charming smile to the other boy when he shot up reflexively with a small yelp. Steve couldn't help but notice James' change in demeanour upon learning that it was him who was knocking and not someone else- from rigid to a slightly relaxed slouch.

Steve tapped the seat one away from James, "Is this seat taken?" He asked with a slightly quirked eyebrow. The boy shook his head and Steve pulled it out from the table with little noise and sat in it.

From this close he could smell the motor oil that stained the other boy's clothes and the bitter scent of cigarettes smoke, both projected the badboy imagine that the girls in the movies liked, but Steve wasn't a girl in rom-com and while he wasn't a fan of cigarettes, he had smelt a wrestler's lockeroom and even if James had rolled around in ten year old sewage, he still wouldn't smell as bad as post (or pre) match Thor.

"How are you James?" Steve initiated conversation. The brunette tapped the desk and refused to look at him in the eye, looking instead at the empty desks.

"Fine. And like I said, it's  _Bucky_  not James."

Crap. He had said that, Steve thought. Now Bucky would think that he was an airhead.

"Right, yeah. Sorry, my mind is all over the place. Detention does that I think- kills the brain cells. Maybe it's to stop up from re-offending, we'll be too zombiefied to even breathe in class without permission."

Bucky shrugged and grunted in agreement.

Steve inwardly signed but persevered, "I've seen you in a couple of my classes, what do you take?"

The tapping continued but Bucky briefly looked at him as he answered, "World Studies, German, Government, Economics plus the basics. And you?"

Steve gaped. "damn Buck, that's some heavy stuff. I couldn't imagine doing anything like economics, my thick skull would explode," he joked. Bucky shrugged once again.

And a discreet smile appeared briefly at the nickname that Steve had unconsciously made.

The blonde continued, "like you said- the basics with US history, government and art. And I'm in the wrestling team- as you know."

Bucky's eyebrow quirked and against his own wishes, his mouth opened, "you do art?" He couldn't help but smirk a little. Who'd've thought it, Captain Steve Rogers being an artist.

Steve caught his look of disbelief and laughed, a deep chuckle along with a instinctual small shake of his head, "yeah I do art; Fine Art as well, with paintbrushes and pencils and all the workings. Got a problem with that Barnes?"

"No, not at all Steve. Just thought you'd be one of those proper macho-guys that think that art is for gays or somthin-"

"No I don't think like that at all. And I wouldn't be friends with anyone who did," Steve interrupted. Bucky looked at him in shock of his slight outburst. "Sorry. It's just that stuff like that really gets on my nerves."

"Okay," Bucky replied quietly, slipping further into self isolation and mentally away from Steve.

"I didn't mean to yell. I'm not used to keeping my voice down, usually I have to scream to be heard with my friends- nice to have a conversation that doesn't require raw vocal chords. Anyway, what do you do outside of class?" His voice dropped volume considerably.

"Not much. Listen to music mostly."

"What sort of stuff?"

"Rock, I guess. I listened to a lot of European rock before I came to New York, I'm still getting used to the American stuff. I'm a big fan of Pink Floyd, Joy Division, The Smiths, U2..."

"U2 are brilliant-  _Sunday Bloody Sunday_ is my favourite song!"

"Same!"

The pair looked at each other with big smiles on their faces. Both for a similar reason:

Steve, because he could actually speak about his interests without worrying of other's judgement. Even Sam would laugh at his utter adoration for the Irish band.

And Bucky, because no one had willingly engaged in a conversation with him since he came to America. The relief of having someone as unlikely as Steve being genuinely interested in what he had to say enthralled him and sent his heart into overdrive.

"I managed to smuggle in my Walkman, want to listen? I have one of those double headphone things," Bucky murmured timidly.

Steve's grin almost shattered his face in half, "sure," he said, "that would be cool."

The blonde wrestler slid into along into the empty seat next to Bucky and placed one hand on the table and another in his jacket pocket, then pulling out a large Hershey bar. He put that on the table and delved into the other pocket, retrieving a Snickers- slightly smaller in size than the Hershey. "Which one would you like?" He asked while Bucky fumbled with untangling the headphones. 

He looked startled but smiled nervously, "it's fine, you don't need to give me your food. Don't you need it for ...protein or whatever?"

Steve let out a deep, chest rattling laugh and subconsciously patting his left breast with his right hand. "Yeah, I'm sure that I'm going to get nutritional proteins from a cheap bar of chocolate. C'mon Buck, my uncle loaded me up a whole feast in my bag; I can spare giving you a bar. Please, you'd be doing me a favour." He smiled warmly and pulled the expression known as  _the-sad-golden-retriever_ by his peers. As he had hoped, Bucky gave in with a sigh and nodded.

"If you're sure, I'll have whatever. I'm not fussy."

Steve passed him his favourite, the  _fifth avenue_ bar, and took in return the headphone offered. A cassette, named simply as  _GDR_ , was slipped put into the Walkman and once both were wearing their headphones, Bucky hit play.

 

Tony found himself in the math section of the library, on its second floor, sitting against a wall with a large calculus book in his lap. He flicked through the pages with a black marker, circling all the mistakes he could- he'd currently found fifteen.

He usually did this activity with Bruce, not alone. With his friend, he could laugh about the mistakes and chat while 'working', being alone wasn't much fun.

He wondered what his curly haired friend was doing, probably at the Stark Labs, causing havoc until he was released from detention. Then he was sure that Bruce would pick him up in his green truck, that they affectionately called  _the Hulk_ because of its clunkiness. Tony found the situation unfair; Bruce was 17 with a working car whilst he still had to wait two months; two months till he could legally drive, have sex and emancipate from his father. The latter he probably wouldn't do however, for as much as he couldn't stand Howard, it would break his mom's heart if he did- and Tony would admit, it was nice to be rich.

Bruce wasn't rich. He wasn't poor either though. His father, Brian, was about as good a father as Howard was- but even worse- and was a physicist at Stark Enterprises and while he received a large paycheck, he managed to spend most of it on luxurious 'business trips' abroad- where he would undoubtedly break the vows that he had sworn to his wife on the altar- and alcohol. Afterwards he'd give Mrs Banner just enough to pay the mortgage and household bills.

The Banners lived in a four bedroom brownstone in Manhattan, about half an hour away from the Stark's lavish Upper East Side townhouse. Tony loved Bruce's house, who's matriarch Rebecca had decorated it to feel homely and not to adhere purely to aesthetics. In fact, Tony spent so much time at the Banner residence that one of the guest rooms was always kept for him, no matter who else was there. He had tried to pay them rent for the days he spent there but both mother and son were too kind hearted-or proud- to accept such a gift.

He missed Bruce. Scanning through ill-written textbooks wasn't fun without his stuttery accomplice.

Tony knew that they often got odd looks for being basically conjoined at the hip. They had every lesson together, worked together every time, hung around with each other at every possible chance. He remembered the teachers trying to separate them in freshman year, but they soon gave up trying when it became apparent that the boys would simply refuse to work with anyone else. He knew that if it wasn't for being close friends with Pepper Potts, he would've been outed as gay as soon as he stepped foot into Marvel High.

Luckily for him, his mother had made an arrangement with the Potts to hide both his and Pepper's gayness, where once a month they'd have go on a 'date' somewhere public to squash any rumours they weren't both straight.

It made it easier for him that they were real best friends and hung out regularly, just with less hand-holding and fleeting kisses.

Tony pushed the thought from his mind. The more he thought about what lay waiting for him once he'd left the confines of detention, the more lonely and annoyed he felt. He didn't have anyone to talk to here. Natasha and Barton obviously had something going on; even a blind man could see the tension between them, and Steve and Barnes? Well he wasn't sure about them but Tony was beginning to feel as though he wasn't the only one different at Marvel.

Maybe if he focused on that, he'd stop feeling so alone. 

He pushed the textbook in a mixture of annoyance at the publisher's complete incompetence and at his current situation. It was his own fault for being here. They should've been more careful. 

-

Fury smirked as he walked into the records room and saw the countless rows of filing cabinets that lay before him, ready to be opened and read at his whim. Should he start with the staff first or pupils? And if pupils, what grade? And who?

Perhaps it'd be a good idea to start with those bastards in the library? He thought. 

_Yeah, let's start there._


	9. septem

It was 12:30 and that meant one thing. One meaning shared by any faculty member or student at Marvel.

Lunch.

Fury stood up from his nest in the records room, where countless files and manila folders lay scattered. He tilted his neck from side to side, rolled his shoulders and stretched out his arms- each time satisfied with an audible crack from his joints. He checked his watch and walked out from the office, twisting the key in the lock to make sure that no one would be able to disturb his newly accessed habitat.

He pulled on his jacket and buttoned it up as he exited the red, main entrance  block and marched through the courtyard to get back to the library block where he saw, once he had entered the library's inner doors, the all the pupils were still in their initial seats with their heads flat against the table tops, seemingly asleep.

He smirked, a glint of knowing power in his eyes, and reached to pluck a large hardback book from a nearby shelf and weigh it in his palm. Then he crept along the tables until he reached the table at which Romanoff and Rogers were sitting at and slammed the book onto the tabletop with as much force as he could muster; causing a monstrous burst of noise to thunder throughout the library. 

The students shot up into straight backed positions, each clutching at their pounding hearts. 

"Wakey-wakey. I've come to let you know that it's lunch; so you can get out whatever you've brought. What's the problem Barton?" He hissed.

The boy lowered his vertically stretched arm, "Will we be able to buy stuff from the vending machines? It's just that I haven't bought anything and I'm ab-so-lute-ly starving."

Fury narrowed his eyes at the detention regular. He couldn't exactly say  _no_ ; he could get reported for allowing a student to 'starve'- even though he knew that none of these  _asshole kids_ had ever felt true hunger in their lives or ever would. "Does anyone else need something from the machines?"

The other four rose their hands.

"For god's sake," he muttered and pulled a piece of paper from his notebook and placed it in front of Tony, "take a note of what everyone wants and give the list to... Rogers and- Barnes. Yeah, Rogers and Barnes; I want you to go and get what everyone wants from the canteen machines. I'll check back here in ten minutes, by which point I want you back in your seats and the whole room in silence, capeesh?"

Rogers nodded earnestly while Barnes just shrugged from the back row.

 "Good."

Fury strolled from the main library and back across the corridor to the librarian's office. Once the door shut, the students began to talk once more.

 

Some time later, two boys left the room with clinking change in their pockets and a long list of demands in the blonde's hand. 

"Four cans of Coca-Cola, two bags of Cheetos and a Snickers bar for Barton; a Diet Coke and a Fortune Bubble-gum stick for Natasha; and a Yoo-hoo for Tony. Are you going to get anything?" Steve asked the brunette. 

The quiet boy shrugged, "maybe a Coke? I dunno, I have about $1 on me."

"I prefer Pepsi."

Bucky looked him with heavy judgement, "Really? But it's gross."

"Oh shut up! Pepsi is so much better than Coke- it's way, way too over sweet. And when it gets warm, it's like drinking syrup."

"Excuse me, Coca-Cola was made first so technically, Pepsi is just a great big rip off! Also where I lived, before here, they only sold Coke so I just got used to it." This final sentence really grabbed Steve's attention so as they entered the large doors that led into the canteen he asked:

"So where did you live before here? Somewhere in Europe right?"

It took a moment for Bucky to reply while they walked over to where the vending machines stood on the wall opposite of where the kitchen staff would stand with an array of food of varying quality depending on the day.

"I moved out from Brooklyn when I was about six with my dad, he worked in a big mining company. First we lived in Odessa, Ukraine, until I was eight; then Prague, Czechoslovakia, until '78; Constanța, Romania, for a year; and then all around East Germany until we were transferred to Sverdlovsk, in Russia." his voice faded to silence as he took the money from his pocket- given to him by the other  _detentionees-_ and began to buy Barton's order. Steve stood behind him with thoughts so loud even he could hear them.

"Also, no. My family weren't communists, so you can chill out Captain America. My father was as big a capitalist money grabber as Reagan so don't worry."

"Now, that sounds like something a communist would say. Don't you think?" Steve laughed and nudged his shoulder. Bucky swallowed deeply and paid the growing warmth in his chest no thought.

He picked up Barton's Cheetos, Coke and Snickers and passed them to Steve. He turned back to sort out everyone else's orders. "You ever lived anywhere but the Big Apple, Rogers?"

"Well, Barnes, technically no. Though I was raised in the Lower East Side then moved across the bridge to Brooklyn. I've never had a chance to leave the country; the furthest I've been is Washington."

"Of course it is."

"What do you mean by that?" Steve seemed to actually serious. His voice had changed from jokey and light hearted to something with an edge.

Bucky's mind began to panic. Had he upset Steve? Insulted him? "I just mean that you seem to be the proper all-american-boy. You're strong, tall, patriotic, athletic, artistic,  blonde haired-blue eyed. Just- everything. So it'd make sense that the only place you'd been to is the Captial" He rambled. 

Steve's eyebrows furrowed deeper and a small frown settled on his face. "That doesn't mean jack. You know, Bucky, I put a damn lot of effort to do the stuff I do. I get myself bloodied and bruised while training, I lose feeling in my arms and get rashes on my hands while drawing, I work my damn ass off. And I'll let you know this: while you were in Europe, swanning around living a cushy life, I was working hard to get where I am. I didn't have folks that could jet me around, I made my own way. Oh, and not like it's any of your business, but the time I want to DC wasn't to do the nice touristy, all American sights; it was for my dad's funeral."

Once he had let out his rant, he knocked Bucky to the side with his shoulder and collected the food and drinks that had fallen from the machine and turned on his heel and towards the canteen doors; back towards the library. Bucky stood dazed and heavy with guilt as he followed, debating whether or not he should say anything else to Steve. Perhaps he could apologise for his insensitivity. But there was something about what Steve had said that really annoyed him. 

While away, he hadn't been living a cushy life. From the moment the initial plane left the runway of JFK for Odessa International, he had been trapped in a deep cloud of loneliness. Loneliness that had crushed his heart and lungs, every minute of every day it felt like his organs were being crushed in a vice. Where was the cushy life that Steve spoke of when he was being spat on for his different accent while at school in Sverdlovsk? When his father refused to speak or even look at him? Or when he was shipped back to New York to a house that was colder than the depths of Siberia?

"You know nothing Rogers!" He yelled down the corridor. 

Steve spun back with confusion and quiet anger in his eyes, "Huh, really? Because it seems to me that you're the privileged kid that thinks he's too big for Marvel and that's why you cut yourself off from everyone. You want people to dislike you so you have someone to blame for your own mistakes. You-"

"Oh fuck off, man. Get your head out of your arse and look around! You're the star child of this damn school! Everyone must seem so nice and kind and accepting to you, because they are- to you. Everyone wants to be your friend because it gets them social points. Why exactly would they want to know me? Huh? I've got a weird,  _'Soviet'_ accent; I don't like the same stuff as anyone else; I don't look the way I should; plus there are about a thousand different rumours about me that are mostly about how I stabbed someone or am a goddamn communist spy. Would you actively seek out to be nice to someone who sounded like that? I know that I wouldn't. 

"Think about it Steve, are you telling me that every lonely person at Marvel chose to be isolated from everyone else? That me, Logan Howlett, Kurt Wagner, Nebula Peale and plenty of others all chose to be weirdos; ready to be spat on, kicked, pushed, threatened and excluded? Why would we choose that?" He ended with a resigned sigh. "I was wrong to think that you had it easy getting to the top, but at least you got there."

Steve looked gobsmacked as Bucky continued walking back to the library. He didn't know what to say or even to think.

 

 

Meanwhile, while the two boys had left to get food, the others left behind began lunch. Clint rose from his space and slid into the empty chair next to Natasha who was rummaging through her handbag. "So what feast has thee got today? Any eastern delicacies?"

The redhead laughed, "Well unless a Caesar salad and pack of Nerds count as  _eastern delicacies_ \- no."

"I'm disappointed. I thought you Russians ate  _Kulich_ and  _Kasha_ and drank vodka. You do have some vodka in that bag right?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Not all Russians drink vodka- I don't drink at all. Well I can drink, very well, I just don't see the point of drinking your American catpiss," she joked and winked, "also Kasha is just porridge, and we only have Kulich at Easter. So you'll need to update your knowledge on Russians."

Clint lent closer, "Maybe you can help me update what I know?"

Natasha smiled coyly but with a teasing look in her eyes, "Maybe one day,  _Amerikanskiy mal'chik."_

"Hmmm,  _American Boy,_ very inventive," he chuckled before switching to Russian himself, " _Although I can think of better names you could call me_." 

If Natasha was taken aback by this seemingly new skill, her face didn't betray it. Instead she just quirked her eyebrow, " _Really? And what would they be_?"

"Ahh, that would be telling,  _lisichka._ "

A long sigh broke the two from their bubble. They turned to see Tony looking dismayed at a flask he had pulled from his backpack. At the silence, Tony looked over to Clint and Natasha and with feigned sympathy gasped, "Oh my, did I interrupt your flirting? Please accept my deepest apologies."

A faint blush rose up their necks. "Jealous or something, Stark?" Clint smirked.

Tony snorted, "You're very funny, Barton. You'd give Eddie Murphy a run for his money. I'm fine thanks."

"You're dating Pepper Potts, right?" Natasha asked. 

"Yeah," he replied unconvincingly, he was sure that they would ask exactly what his tone meant but luckily they seemed to let that subject drop. It would've been too much to wish for that the Pepper-line-of-questioning would stop, however.

"Really, why would Potts date someone like you? No offense," Clint paused, "I mean, like you're not the best looking or most charismatic guy, are you? I suppose being a Stark helps-"  

"We've been best friends since we were kids, her mom worked for my mom as her PA so we basically grew up together," he cut in. "Can you just go back to your Russlish flirting and let me eat my soup in peace?"

Natasha asked, "what's  _Russlish?_ "

"Russian-English. Like how Spanish and English is Spanglish. Duh." He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

The other boy and girl looked at each other astounded at how Tony spoke. "I think I preferred it when you only squeaked one word sentences." Clint spoke coldly.

"And I think I preferred it when you didn't stick your nose into my business. Thanks." He snarked back and poured his soup from the flask into the mug and began to drink the thick red liquid. Natasha placed her hand on the crook of Clint's elbow to bring him back to their conversation.

Another five minutes passed with Tony softly slurping his tomato soup while Clint and Natasha spoke in Russian about the most mundane things, just so they could hear the other's voice in the Slavic tongue again. However the peace was rudely disrupted by one of the library doors flying open and slamming to the wall with a heavy thud. 

Bucky stormed in with hunched shoulders and his hair covering his features. He stomped his way to his desk, slamming Clint's change in front of the shocked boy, before sinking into his chair, muttering jagged German curses under his breath.

Not thirty seconds later, Steve walked in, in the same foul mood. He dumped all the food and drink on the front table and after seeing that his place had been taken by Clint, he audibly whispered, "oh fucking great," and dumped himself in a chair on the row behind.

The other three looked around utterly confused and thoroughly shocked, the evidence of which was written plainly across their faces.

"What the hell is wrong with you two? Lovers tiff?" Clint shouted.

"Shut the fuck up Barton!" They both simultaneously yelled back before collapsing back into furious silence.

Tony let out a low whistle, "Fun, Fun, Fun."

 

 

Fury sat in the office, uncaring of the arguments in the corridors and library. He knew that he should probably go in and give the students hell but he couldn't find the will to do so, plus he was about to start reading a new file.

He picked it up and read the name aloud to himself.

N A T A L I A. A L I A N O V A. R O M A N O V A

( N A T A S H A. R O M A N O F F )

And he grinned as his eyes caught the big red stamp in the center of the cover. 

E X T R E M E L Y  C O N F I D E N T I A L

F O R  T H E  P R I N C I P A L ' S  E Y E S  O N L Y


End file.
